


cicatrix

by RattyCatty



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: 80s Music, Body Image, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Porn with Feelings, Post-Season/Series 06, Tender Sex, post-taking henry to college tearfulness, stretch marks, wine moms strike again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-10 21:53:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20142565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RattyCatty/pseuds/RattyCatty
Summary: And yeah, Emma’s never been self-conscious of her body or her weight (loss or gain, it's whatever) – but Regina has paused, her fingers trailing over Emma’s abdomen, the space around her belly button and above the hem of her jeans. “Regina,” she whines, squirming under the soft touch. Bothplease, I need you, andplease, not there.Swan Queen + stretch marks





	cicatrix

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: swearing, smut, themes of body image, big crying times, sappiness, the smiths
> 
> (emo smiths-fan regina is because of that One strangesmallbard fic which i cannot remember the name of currently, I have not been able to stop thinking about regina loving the smiths since - also, just makes sense because swan-mills family are soft for 80s music apparently and regina feels _so much all the time_ (big mood))
> 
> all feedback/comments/kudos are super appreciated as always! i know this fandom is kinda dying though rip, thanks to those who are still around being lovely <3

When it finally happens, it’s not because of any curse or magical incident, it’s not spitting rage and intimidation, or a secret romp in another realm, not fate or destiny or fairy-dust. When it happens, it’s years later, after that tense _almost _phase has nearly passed, when they’ve both almost given up hoping for the other. When it happens, it’s in Regina’s living room, and it’s two mothers missing their son, and it’s sad laughs and whispered, desperate words.

It’s the night they get back from taking Henry to college, when Regina invites Emma inside for a drink because they both need it and to not be alone right now, and this house is too big, too painfully empty without the stomping feet of a teenage boy.

It’s the soft sound of Regina’s 80s playlist as they get through a bottle of wine and then crack another one open – the sound of Yazoo and memories of tentative teenage love and that dark dark time filled with lies and temptations, the sound of Erasure and Regina twirling Henry in circles on his graduation night and laughing, laughing, laughing.

It’s the sad, longing of the Smiths, all jangling guitars and yearning, pining words, and Regina on the couch next to Emma, a blanket on her knees and tipsy-going-on-drunk enough to not feel self-conscious about turning morose. Her eyes are glassy, her smile faltering, and Emma presses closer, leans their shoulders together. “He’s coming back for Christmas, Regina,” she promises gently, half-reassuring herself too. “We’re not getting rid of the kid that easily.”

And Regina laughs wetly, rolls her eyes and accepts Emma’s warmth as she’s done many times before. They do this, now – drink wine and laugh and hug, not so wary of physical affection now that the pirate and the thief are long gone (not forgotten, but it’s been long enough since they’ve had to carefully regulate all their actions because the smallest thing could be taken wrong or lead to something disastrously wonderful).

“I just hope he’s safe,” Regina whispers. “And that he makes friends and does well and enjoys himself.” She reaches for her glass, sips her wine, tilts her head and lets her eyes slip closed as she listens to Morrissey croon. _For there are brighter sides to life and I should know because I've seen them, but not very often– _“I hope he doesn’t forget us.”

Emma swallows, because tipsy, thoughtful Regina might be one of her favourite Reginas – Regina with her eyes closed, her jawline and throat exposed, that sad little scrunch between her eyebrows and the way her fingers are tapping delicately – and these would have been dangerous, terrifying thoughts once upon a time, but now, she’s not so sure. Swallows, because god, she can empathise with that – remembers what it’s like to be forgotten, like you never mattered. “He won’t,” she says earnestly. “He _won’t, _he loves us – loves you, so much.”

Regina nods, opens her eyes. “And he loves you, Emma,” and it’s too serious, has Emma’s heart thud in her chest. “Would you–” Regina falters, trails off looking ashamed. “Would you stay tonight? Henry – the house feels strange without him.” And then quieter, almost inaudible, “You don’t have to but I…don’t really want to be alone tonight.”

And Emma nods quickly, smiles. “Of course. I mean, I don’t think I should walk back in this state anyway, y’know,” and Regina nods quickly too, _oh, of course, _and they ignore the elephant in the room of neither of them wanting to be apart, of how no one else quite understands what they’re both feeling, no one else feels quite as _comfortable. _

So she stays, and they finish off the second bottle of wine, and sink down into the couch, bodies pressing together. They talk about Henry, of course they do – Emma whispers about those ten years of fake but _happy _memories, of feeling him kick when she’d been in jail, and Regina _ohs _softly in awe, offers up his first steps, his first words, his first day at school in return. Her breath is warm on Emma’s skin where they’ve slid down against each other in their wine-induced sleepiness, and it feels safe and terrifying.

The moment shifts, pauses, and it’s so quiet that Emma can hear the other woman’s steady intake of breath, the way her throat catches with the tears in her eyes. And then they’re kissing, Emma closing the inch between them to place her mouth on Regina’s – earnest, grateful – because it feels natural, right, to do so in this moment. Regina inhales sharply but kisses back, her fingers trailing through Emma’s hair, over her jaw, her shoulder, her biceps. It’s eight years coming, closure at last for years of tension and unsaid words and maybe a beginning too, the start of something of their own choosing. One of them moans, maybe both, and Regina’s hips are rocking gently, their legs entangling.

“Regina – shit – are you sure you’re ok with this?” Emma gasps between kisses, breathing through the feeling of a hand slipping under her shirt to toy with her breasts. “If it’s just the wine and the sadness – this is – wow, y’know, but I don’t wanna take advantage–”

“Emma, you idiot,” Regina laughs quietly, pulling away. “I have wanted this – you – for _years.” _And all Emma can do as Regina flips them, straddles her waist, is just say _oh_, very very quietly, because she has _wanted _since _hi _and waking up in a small-town jail and raging power plays.

Regina’s hips are still moving, grinding slow and deep as they return to kissing, and Emma imagines she’s very good at just _taking, _seducing and domineering in much the same way she does in life,except her fingers are shaky with want as if she can’t believe any of this is happening. It’s adorable, and it’s hot as hell.

Shirts are quickly discarded, the other woman’s mouth on her immediately, kissing the soft skin, lips wrapping around a pebbled nipple. Emma had shrugged her bra off from under her sweater somewhere between the third and fourth glass of wine and it’s a testament to just how comfortable they’ve gotten. “When?” she breathes. “Since when?”

“Since you rolled into my town,” Regina answers, releasing the nipple with a pop and swapping to the other breast and scraping her teeth lightly over Emma’s nipple. “Since you threw me against the wall in the hospital–” She sucks, flicks her tongue against it, and the blonde mewls. Heat pools beneath her thighs at the thought of that tongue, _Regina’s _tongue lower, down when she’s hot and aching_._

“Since you said you believed me – since Neverland and _our son _– since you were _gone _for a _year _and I _missed _you so much–” Regina whispers between peppering kisses all over Emma’s breasts, the valley between them, her ribs, the beginning of her stomach.

“That long?” Emma murmurs, cradling the back of Regina’s head, stroking her soft, silky hair. _Eight years _of wanting, of thinking the other was straight, of compulsory heterosexuality and stupid boyfriends and constant magical disasters and _not having time_.

“That long,” Regina agrees with a sad hum. “Couldn’t stand watching that idiot pirate paw at you.” She’s moving lower, hands stroking up and down Emma’s waist, her thumb moving over ribs that jut out only slightly – not as much as they used to, not like they did when she was a run-away or a felon, not after years of Regina’s hearty cooking and bear claws and wine. Emma’s never been particularly self-conscious, never really had to watch her weight, so the small amount she’s put on since _family _is not really an issue – the opposite, actually – a symbol of safety, security, a physical reminder of pleasant family dinners and a warm belly full of good food and wine and laughter.

“Same for me,” Emma reveals quietly, and feels a warm exhale of breath against her skin at the revelation. And yeah, Emma’s never been self-conscious of her body or her weight (loss or gain, its whatever) – but Regina has paused, her fingers trailing over Emma’s abdomen, the space around her belly button and above the hem of her jeans. “Regina,” she whines, squirming under the soft touch. Both _please, I need you, _and _please, not there._

“You are – _so _beautiful,” the other woman says, husky and breathless. A finger trails up one of the many jagged lines Emma knows mar her abdomen, once bright red and angry, now silvery white against the rest of the pale skin but still very much there and noticeable.

“Regina,” she says again, quiet. “You don’t have to–”

“I want to, if it’s ok,” Regina hushes her, looks up at Emma with wide, questioning eyes and the blonde relents, swallows and nods, slides her fingers deeper into dark hair. She wants to be ok with this so bad, with Regina seeing her everything, her insecurities and vulnerabilities, so she’ll try – breathe through her anxiety and try to feel the admiration, _believe _it, for once in her damn life.

Regina presses her lips to Emma’s abdomen and whispers, “Thank you.” She traces another few, her fingers reverent and trembling as she all but worships the marks, imagines Emma full and pregnant with their beautiful boy and almost weeps. Almost cries, _does _well up, not for the first time that night, because their boy is grown and off to college, and they’re finally a family, all three of them, but he’s so far away and it’s ok to miss him. Almost cries, because she could never have brought such a wonderful human into the world, her body and self-loathing and impulsive mother-provoked decisions had never allowed it, but Emma, _Emma – _

Emma who had exploded into her town and made Regina her friend, believed in her against all odds, Emma who has magic, is so powerful but never lets it go to her head, Emma who is brave and bold and makes paper planes on shift and eats cereal at night and loves with all her heart despite her traumas.

“You are so beautiful,” she repeats. “And you brought our son into this world, kept him safe in here, brought him to me when I needed him most – to _us_.” Another kiss to the right of the woman’s bellybutton, then to the other side, and then another, lower, lower, slowly turning open-mouthed and hungry.

Emma’s cheeks are wet and _god_, she’s embarrassed, so embarrassed to be crying openly during sex but it’s Regina, who’s seen her at her lowest, seen her cry so many times, and it’s _Regina, _laying between her thighs, kissing her stretch marks and whispering words of awe into the space between them. “Us – our son,” Emma murmurs. “Ours,” and then, “God, Regina.”

“What do you need,” Regina asks against her hip, unbuttoning those stupid tight jeans and easing the zipper down as she speaks anyway.

“You – your mouth,” the other woman whimpers, spreading her thighs in anticipation, lifting her hips to help Regina get rid of the offending denim, watching her shuck off her own slacks at the same time. And then she’s in her panties on Regina’s couch, wet and wanting, and Regina is nosing the cotton, inhaling her, _fuck._

She takes her time, presses gently through the soft material with her thumb, the tickling tip of her index until Emma is bucking upwards, rolling her hips into Regina’s touch, needy for more. “Reg-_ina, _god, you’re a tease,” Emma moans in frustration and the other woman laughs smugly against her. She _wants this _though, so badly, has done for years, imagined this late at night, and so she doesn’t tease for long. Regina hooks her fingers underneath the hem and pulls, moaning throatily at the sight (emma soaked, glistening, spread across her couch and wanting _her) _and helping her kick them off and away. Then she’s settling between pale thighs once more, almost as needy as Emma, keyed up with her own arousal.

The first taste has them moaning in tandem, a slow, flat brush of her tongue through Emma’s heat. “Oh fuck,” Emma is groaning, and then Regina is working her tongue earnestly and Emma’s head drops back into the cushions, her hips rising.

She had never imagined Regina was anything other than straight as hell, but that thing she’s doing with her tongue – there’s no _way _this is her first time with a woman, she thinks. Part of her is curious as to _who_, who’d been Regina’s first, who taught her to do that, but then realises it doesn’t matter because Regina is here now, with _her, fuck. _And then she doesn’t, can’t think much after that.

Regina flicks her tongue against her clit, making her feel things she hasn’t felt in a long time. Cries of, “Fuck – Regina,” and “please,” as the rhythm is torturously slow, as Regina savours her and teases and slips down to kiss the joint of her knee and then all the way back up. Emma’s hand clutches the edge of the couch, the other woman’s bare shoulder, flexes in mid-air desperate for something more, more connection.

The other woman glances up Emma’s toned stomach, sees a restless hand curled into a fist as if resisting the urge to squeeze or pull too hard. Regina reaches up and brushes her fingers against that trembling fist, eases the fingers open and entwines them with her own. “You won’t break me, Emma,” she whispers and squeezes.

“Ok,” Emma says, breathless and strangled, and, “Thank you,” and, “I need to come–”

Regina chuckles lowly and goes back to work, faster and hungrier, her hand splaying across Emma’s tummy to stop her bucking her hips. She flutters her tongue against the woman’s hard clit and then wraps her lips around and _sucks, _and Emma explodes, cries out and shudders –

“Oh god, oh – fuck, _Regina,” _and inaudible words, incoherent sounds, and Regina revels in it, keeps fucking her through her orgasm until she slumps, a tired, pleased mewl leaving her. “Regina,” she pants. “Regina, come ‘ere.”

A final kiss to Emma’s thigh and then the brunette crawls up Emma’s naked body, settling herself on her side next to her, a leg over Emma’s hips. She doesn’t dare say a word now that Emma has come, doesn’t dare break the moment, so she just kisses her gently, delighting in the slight moan Emma lets out when their tongues brush and she presumably tastes herself. (She tastes _amazing, _Regina thinks, hopes that this is not just a drunken, sad mistake because gods, she could never get tired of doing that.)

“Where,” Emma says when she can breathe again, “the hell did you learn to do that.” And Regina laughs, because it’s not a rejection, and it feels them.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she teases slyly, and they’re both chuckling. It’s good. It’s simple. The house doesn’t feel so empty and Regina’s heart is _full._

Emma pulls her closer, hugs her close until Regina’s hips are against her thigh and she feels wet heat against her skin, realises that _oh, _that’s Regina – Regina is wet, she made Regina wet, Regina has yet to come and she _desperately _wants to be the one to make her.

Tentatively, testing, she reaches over to trail her fingers down the other woman’s throat, shoulder, down to a breast and a tightened nipple. She rolls her thumb over it, watches Regina suck in a breath, watches her eyes flutter shut and her mouth open into a quiet noise of pleasure when she teases it between her fingers, squeezes slightly. _Emma _falls from her tongue, almost inaudible but unmistakably wanting.

“I want to watch you come,” Emma whispers and is rewarded with a soft _“yes”. _With Regina’s blessing, she plays with her nipple a little more and then slips her hand down, down over smooth skin and soft definition, down to where Regina is warm and slick. Emma teases for a moment, rubs over the sodden lace and grins childishly. “You’re _soaked, _Regina, holy fuck.”

Regina grunts in annoyance, rolls her hips pointedly. “Miss _Swan.” _

Emma snickers and relinquishes, dips her hand underneath the waistband to feel skin on skin and wonders at the abundant wetness she finds.

Regina gasps, mewls as Emma thumbs her clit, her face crumpling into an expression of absolute pleasure. All Emma can do is watch raptly, keep moving her fingers, listening to the hitch of breath when she hits a particularly sensitive spot or good rhythm. Regina’s cheeks are flushed with arousal too, and it’s cute as hell.

“Inside,” she whimpers. “_Please.” _Emma obeys, wants Regina’s orgasm more than anything right in that moment. She pushes two fingers tentatively inside and strokes, awesat how hot and tight Regina is around her.

“You’re incredible,” she murmurs. “You deserve so much pleasure. Wanna give you so much.”

“_Emma_,” Regina breathes and forces her eyes half-open. “You are. This is enough. We’re enough.” And it’s too vulnerable, too much too soon probably, for anyone except them. She reaches out to tangle her fingers in that long, golden hair, her other resting against Emma’s hard abdomen, fingers curled and shaking as she rocks her hips harder. “I’m close,” she admits with a shudder.

Emma doubles her effort, teases Regina’s clit with her thumb and then rolls over it harder. Regina keens, squeezes her eyes shut, tilts her head downwards, and Emma whispers, “No, look at me, I want to see you.”

So Regina forces herself to open her eyes against her pleasure, locks eyes with the sheriff and then her thighs are shaking, her mouth dropping open to cry out and Emma watches, watches, keeps pleasuring her and watches as Regina Mills unravels before her, dissolves into gasping pleasure.

When she comes down, slowly relaxes her tight body, she says something like _oh gods _to herself, and Emma’s lip quirks up, because goddamn, she is so _cute _– all the time, but especially after an earth-shattering orgasm. She leans in, presses a tender kiss to Regina’s full lips and strokes her hip slowly.

Moments pass – the sound of Regina’s laboured breathing and The Smiths still playing softly, and Emma exhales, wonders how the hell she got so lucky to be here, alive – a family, a son, wine nights with Regina that end with them naked and gasping and clinging to one another.

“You ok?” she asks, and Regina nods, slips into a slightly more comfortable position. She pulls Emma with her until they’re curling into one another on the couch. And then she concentrates extra hard (drunk magic is always a _gamble, _but this should be straightforward enough) until another fleece blanket materialises and drapes itself over their hips.

“Are you?” she throws back, tentative and just a little bit nervous, Emma thinks.

Nodding quickly, she pulls Regina into a small hug. “Never better,” she replies and feels the older woman burrow closer, burying her face in the crook of Emma’s neck and holding tight.

Moments pass as Emma thinks, and she’s almost sure Regina has fallen asleep when she decides to finally say, “At the town line.”

Regina frowns, looks up confusedly. “What?”

“The town line. I asked you when. That’s my when,” Emma says quietly into the dim room. “I wanted you as soon as I met you, but I _loved _you at the town line.”

Regina _ohs _again quietly, stroking her thumb over Emma’s waist. “Just before you had to forget.” Before Henry had to forget, before they had to disappear and before that terrible, sad year and a thief and a pirate and before everything got complicated and dangerous.

Emma senses her darkening thoughts and pulls her closer again until every inch of their warm bodies touch. “I won’t be forgetting again anytime soon,” she whispers, a promise, and despite how regular memory curses seem to be for them, Regina believes.


End file.
